


Smother

by FictitiousFanatisch



Series: Can't Breathe [3]
Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Abuse, Depressing Thoughts, Escape, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Past Domestic Violence, Sad, dream/flashback, recovery period
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictitiousFanatisch/pseuds/FictitiousFanatisch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>unedited.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Smother

**Author's Note:**

> unedited.

**< < < <** ****

Zayn woke up to the glimmer of the sunlight seeping through the curtains of his childhood bedroom.

He was laying on his back so he wouldn't put pressure on his injured arm. He still had a couple of cuts and bruises, but he was healing.

He looked around, staring at the books and toys and games from years ago, organised clutter sitting in neat piles around the room. He glared up at the posters of ridiculous pop singers, his old notebooks from his school years, various sketches and doodles from math class. He saw his old backpack and his old television. He saw his stereo he used to sing along to Chris Brown's first album with. He saw the piles of old CDs and mix tapes from the simpler days, back when cassettes were still cool and discs were still new.

Seeing those things hurled him back in time for a little while. As he laid there on his back, staring up at the cream coloured ceiling, he remembered all the things about his past. He remembered being a young, ignorant boy, coming home everyday, locking himself up in his room and taking everyone and everything for granted. Zayn remembered being young and naive. He thought it was pathetic how wrong he was.

Zayn still found it very hard to breathe. It had been about a month since he ran away from home.

He still woke up in the night, petrified, his body frozen and his chest tight. He still felt like his stomach was on fire and his blood was ice cold. His throat was always so dry and his hands were so clammy all the time. He couldn't speak. He didn't know what to say.

His mum would stay home with him the first few weeks, make him breakfast each day and give him a cool glass of water to ease the bitter taste of painkillers. She would tell him his hair was so long and rub her warm hand in circles against his back. She kissed his temple and stood to clean the kitchen.

Zayn would never say much.   
He didn't know how.

He stared with empty eyes at the ceiling, just wondering why. He couldn't fathom why he couldn't just tell her. He wanted to. Of course, he did. He just couldn't bring himself to do it.

She deserved to know. Zayn was her baby. What mother doesn't deserve to know the truth about their son?

But he was so ashamed. After breakfast some days, Zayn would curl up on the couch under a throw blanket and watch the vibrant pictures move on the television screen. He would let the voices of strange actors and cartoon characters fill the eerie silence. Someone had to.

But he would stay in the bed most days. When his two younger sisters came home they learned to be very quiet because their mum always whispered to them that Zayn was resting and emphasised how important it was for him to get better.

Of course there were questions. Zayn was almost never asleep like she assumed. He was laying in bed, staring at the wall like he often found himself doing, time passing by with each tick of the clock.

Zayn heard Safaa asking their mother what had happened to him. She seemed so much older now, so much more aware, compared to when Zayn left. His little sisters weren't waiting on him to grow up. They never asked his permission to start getting older. But he wished he had the power to stop them. He didn't want them to experience the pains of adulthood.

And Mum never knew how to answer, because she herself wasn't entirely sure. Zayn would inhale against his pillowcase to the sound of his mother reassuring his youngest sibling, telling her he was fine and that she shouldn't fret over it. Zayn would sigh because he knew she was trying.

Trying hard to tell them without telling them.

He didn't want them knowing, is the thing. It was more than just shame. It was more than just embarrassment. It had little to do with feeling humiliated. Zayn wanted to keep them from the abhorrent truth. He didn't want his family to see him as a victim. He didn't want them to know how awful life really was for him; that he was violently abused by his spouse and that he was too stupid to realise it for so many months. He didn't want his younger siblings to see him as the imbecile he was, but more importantly, he didn't want them to know such pain existed. No one should.

Zayn didn't want to say he was depressed. The symptoms weren't there. He didn't have a hard time eating. He was always hungry, it seemed. He would eat every meal his mother made for him. Although he didn't really feel comfortable sitting at the dinner table in the evenings.

He slept most of the day and laid awake with his haunting thoughts the remaining eight hours. He just didn't feel like doing anything. He was done. Mentally, he had checked out and needed some alone time. He had to recover and he wanted to do it on his terms.

Waliyha sometimes knocked on his door, came in and brought him something to eat if he hadn't left the room for several hours. He thanked her and she sat next to him while he ate. She would just watch him, or the enthralling wood floor and Zayn could tell she was confused. He could almost see the millions of questions rotating through her mind, but she spoke none of them.

Zayn felt guilty. His mum was staying home from work to look after her sick boy, but that wasn't entirely the truth. Zayn wasn't sick. He never felt any sicker than usual and there was nothing physically wrong. No fever or cold sweat or taste of bile. He sometimes got tingles in his spine and bubbles in his stomach, but he wasn't ill. He was just a bit tired. A little anxious, is the worst it got. She didn't need to give up her life for him, honestly. He was fine.

Zayn didn't see much of his dad because he worked each day like most men and Doniya moved out last summer, apparently.

His mum would sit him down at the table at noon for lunch each day and talk to him. She asked him questions that turned out to be rhetorical and filled him in on all that he missed. She told him that his older sister had a boyfriend she was planning to move in with. She informed him about Safaa's grades and how well she'd been doing in the higher level classes. Waliyha had a job interview next month.

His mum was so patient with him. She never got angry, when Zayn didn't respond. She never raised her voice or said anything less than comforting, even when she was stressed and frustrated. Zayn really wanted to thank her for that and he did. He thanked her whenever he could. He hoped she would understand. He needed more time. 

As Zayn laid there staring at the ceiling, he knew he would have to do something eventually. He panicked some, when his house got those strange calls in the middle of the night. The phone would ring and ring and for some reason his mum was still awake and would answer the phone. Zayn would stand by the doorway in his hoodie and sweats and hear her hang up when the line went dead.

It was what put him into those dizzy spells. He would feel lightheaded and woozy and so he'd sit down on the side of his bed and try to breathe when the trepidation settled deep in his gut. But he couldn't. He couldn't move. She would come and find him that way, trembling with fear, mumbling incoherences to himself. He'd never had panic attacks before, but the feeling of immobility was getting so familiar these days.

The stiffness in his head and neck and the rusty coil contracting in his stomach. He cried sometimes, because he was just so scared. She tucked him under the covers and shushed his unsteady wails. And Zayn knew he was scaring the living daylight a out of her and he hated that. He never meant to hurt anyone, especially not his beautiful mother. She saved him. She gave him life more than once and Zayn couldn't find the words to sufficiently express his overflowing gratitude.

Zayn didn't crawl out of bed until noon, when his stomach was groaning for attention. He didn't bother to shower because he knew he was home alone today. Mum had to go back to work eventually.

He found the plate of food she prepared for him and stuck in the fridge. There was a sticky note placed on the plastic wrap and he squinted to read it.

'  _Had to go in early today. I won't be home until late. I love you :) '_

He smiled as he placed his meal into the microwave.

He kept looking at the tiny note as he ate, the squeak and clink of his fork against the plate the only sound throughout the house.

Zayn was accustomed to the solitude. He didn't really mind it now that he was home. It was kind of ironic how much he once hated being alone, considering he secluded himself in his bedroom all day now that he was free.

Maybe Zayn needed to talk to someone. A professional someone. He wasn't necessarily opposed to that. He knew he was messed up. Liam had beaten and raped him for two merciless years without ever admitting it was wrong. Zayn didn't need anyone to tell him it was wrong. He wasn't stupid, he didn't think. He hoped his brain could still function properly. He didn't know for sure, so maybe he did need a doctor's opinion. It wouldn't hurt.

Zayn did have nightmares about those hands on his body. He had terrors about a deep bellowing voice and strong murderous hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing the life right out of him. He woke up in the night gasping and thrashing because he could still feel his partner hovering him in the dark, pushing him into the bed with a hand muffling his broken cries and frantic sobs. He knew what it felt like to not have a say in the way his body was used. He still quivered at the thought of Liam being so brutal with him. 

Logically speaking, Zayn knew very well he was innocent. He knew it couldn't be his fault. He didn't think he'd ever done anything worthy of punishment. 'Abuse' wasn't something anyone deserved, but Zayn didn't know. He couldn't tell the difference anymore. For all he knew, Liam was showing him love.

He just didn't want to think about it. He tried his best not to. Everyday it was a constant battle of his mind to just not think about it. He was exhausted and he just wanted to lay down and have a long, full, restful night. He prayed for it whenever he had the strength to.

He was so weary. He doubted he would ever have the strength to move on.

After breakfast, Zayn placed his dish in the sink. It was still a struggle to keep Zayn from doing chores around the house. He felt like if he didn't help then something would happen - something bad. It was a challenge with one hand, but he insisted on washing the dishes and drying them. He swept and did the dusting around family picture frames on the tables in the living room. He couldn't help himself. It was the very least he could do after causing so much trouble.

After Zayn did all he possibly could around the house without ripping out his stitches, he went over to the front door and made sure it was locked up tight. He then trudged back down the hall and slipped into his room. He kept the curtains drawn and the blinds closed.

He didn't feel safe here, although he was two-hundred miles from his perpetrator. He still got paranoid sometimes. He couldn't help it. He wouldn't know what to do if Liam found him, hurt him or did something to his family. He didn't know anything. He didn't know if he was being rational or just paranoid.

Zayn never thought he himself would be a prisoner in his own home; a victim of his own lover. He was still coming to terms with that chilling reality.

He stayed in his bed, wrapped up in the sheets. His head rested against the pillow and he tried not to think about it. He was miles away from Liam. He was no longer in danger. He was safe here. It was something he really, really wanted to believe.

**< < < <**

Doniya came home that Saturday. Their mum had told her the news - that Zayn had come home.

Zayn was showered and medicated and dressed by her arrival. He was sat on the couch in the living room watching cartoons with Safaa when she knocked on the door. Zayn's mum answered the door and greeted her daughter with a hug and a kiss. Doniya came inside and Waliyha hugged her as well, then Safaa popped up from the couch and engulfed her in her arms.

It was all joy and happiness and warmth. Zayn wasn't sure why when he stood to say hello to her as well, he was met with silence and an uneasy smile.

It didn't feel good at all. Zayn hadn't seen his older sister in - he didn't even know how long. She was there in front of him; flesh and bones and long dark hair and big eyes and endless eyelashes similar to his own. He couldn't fathom why she was looking at him like that.

He understood when she brought him into her arms, gently, mindful of his injured arm. She didn't say anything to him, but her comforting embrace was somehow enough.

Zayn sort of wanted to cry because - she was in so much pain; he could feel it. He felt connected to her through it, and hated knowing he was the cause of it.

When Doniya finally released him from her hold he turned to see their mother standing there, staring, a touched sparkle in her eyes.

And Zayn really didn't want to bear witness to her crying again. It was horrible to see such a gorgeous woman shed a single tear over something that wasn't her fault.

He just was so sick of the pain.

"How are you?" She asked him, a deep sorrow in her eyes.

"'m fine. Better. How are you?" Zayn asked her, softly. He made no reference to what he was sure she truly meant. He wasn't ready. It wasn't real yet.

"Good, I suppose."

"Mum told me you've got a boyfriend now," Zayn smiled, tacking on a breathy "...finally," just to tease her.

"Yeah, yeah. Go ahead and mock me," she grumbled as he chuckled.

He couldn't help but feel light with the feeling of being surrounded by his loving family. He felt like the elephant in the room wasn't really something that needed to be addressed in order for them to have a good time together.

That day, Safaa dragged Waliyha to play video games in the basement after all the homework was complete. Zayn had already taken care of the chores that were initially their responsibility while they were at school during the week.

Doniya decided to go to store with their dad so they could catch up and she asked her younger brother if he wanted to go too. But Zayn declined. Not because he didn't want to go and spend time with his family, or anything. He was just very frightened of going out into public these days. Again, ironic. He wasn't allowed to leave home before and now, he doesn't want to.

Zayn felt like a burden to them. Here he was, sitting on the floor in his childhood room, looking at the door where his older sister stood, shaking his head in a frantic way. It's not like it wasn't normal to still be a little shaken up about it. It went on for two years. He'd only been out for a month and one of those weeks was spent in the hospital.

But Doniya looked awfully crestfallen. She nodded and closed the door. Zayn could tell she didn't want to leave him at home. All he did was sit at home everyday, all the time.

He could hear his father and his sister's voices echoing in the hallway. He could hear the change in tone murmur something about him, the same hushed voices he heard from everyone these days.

They left the house without him. 

That evening, Zayn sat at the dinner table with them. He usually had an early night when they did this. He didn't feel comfortable being the center of attention. And that's what he was. Unintentionally, of course, just. By default.

They might have tried to engage in casual conversation and talk about everything under the sun but the one thing on the forefront of their minds, but Zayn wasn't fooled.

He felt like his skin was crawling as he sat there picking at his food. He was hungry and it was his mum's cooking so it obviously tasted good. The rest of the family gourmandised the meal while Zayn sat quietly, shifting in his seat.

"Not hungry?" His father asked, a warm familiar voice that made him feel at home.

Zayn looked up, shook his head quickly. "Sorry, I was just... thinking,"

"'bout what?" Safaa asked, curiously. She had probably missed her big brother just as much as he'd missed his little sister. He was being stupid. Selfish and stupid.

He thought about the question for a moment, as his fork dragged through his meal. His mother was there to save him, yet again, placing her hand on Safaa's shoulder and gently shaking her head.

And Zayn felt bad about that. He wanted to share. He wanted to speak and tell them all the horrible things Liam had done to him. He wanted to show them his scars, explain why he'd disappeared for so long without letting any of them know. He wanted them to know. They were his family and they wouldn't judge or chastise him or do anything remotely similar to what Liam would have done. They would love him, accept him for who he was, help him to recover and they would empathise.

All of that sounded so good and Zayn didn't know why he still couldn't form the words to tell them. 

So dinner was awkward. As expected.

His mum wrapped his plate up and put it in the refrigerator for tomorrow. He thanked her and went to his room.

**< < < <**

Doniya was staying for a couple days. She would leave on Monday.

Zayn didn't really know what to say to her. He wanted to ask her about her life and how it felt to only have a year left in university. He wanted to ask about her boyfriend and how in the world she got the approval of their mother and father to move in with him. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her when he was away. He also really wanted her to make him tell the truth (if anyone could do it, Doniya could do it) because every day he kept silent it ate at him more and more. She couldn't leave without knowing. That's what Zayn told himself.

On Sunday afternoon, she softly knocked on his door. He was sitting by the window, listening to some of his old Ne-Yo CDs to pass the time.

He told her she could come in and so she did. She sat on the edge of his bed with her manicured hands resting in her lap.

There was silence for a long time.

Zayn thought that was okay.

Neither really knew what to say.

It was honest.

"How come you've barely said two words to me?" She finally asked, lightheartedly.

Zayn swallowed, the words escaping him.

"Hm? What's up?" She tried again.

Zayn closed his eyes. He could endure this. He honestly didn't mean to be such a burden. He was making everything so difficult when his whole family was nothing but understanding. They never pushed him or constantly loomed over him for some answers. They had given him more than enough space and plenty of time. Zayn had to speak. He needed to.

"Haven't known what to say," he replied, clearing his unused voice.

"I don't know what to say either. But I know I need to say something," she said, carefully.

Zayn knew that. It wouldn't do him any good to hide.

"I know you probably have a lot to say," she almost whispered, but Zayn heard her.

He turned his head towards her in an inaudible plea for help. He just wanted her to understand without having to part his lips and utter a single word.

He had his arms wrapped around his waist and his long hair falling into his eyes and he really, truly wasn't sure what he was going to say. Or how he would even say it. There was something, obviously...but, what? He didn't know. He'd never thought about it. He really didn't believe he'd live long enough to tell someone. He thought he'd die in silence.

But here his big sister was waiting patiently for him and being that outlet he so desperately needed for years.

He couldn't give that up. He couldn't keep doing this to himself and his family. They were hurting each day because of him. They were living in the shadows of his memories. They had no clue what to think and it wasn't fair to them at all.

He took a deep breath, revelled in the feeling of freedom, as he opened his mouth.

"... I wasn't allowed to leave," He started, the block in his throat somehow getting less constricting as the words tumbled out.

She looked at him with a deep furrow between her shapely eyebrows and he didn't know how he was going to continue.

"I never knew why. He just said it was to protect me. I knew that didn't make any sense... he just got so paranoid,"

"He didn't want me to go anywhere. I had to stay at home or else..." he lost his voice, caught in a sea of memories.

He didn't want to confess like this; tell her about the beatings and the rape and the constant yelling. He didn't want to admit he'd cried and sobbed because he was powerless to his spouse. He didn't want her to think he was weak and stupid for staying there as long as he did.

"What? Or else what?" She asked, genuinely concerned. Zayn sighed.

"He'd hurt me. Like, a lot," he mumbled, averting his gaze to the window again. He somehow felt like Liam was listening; like he knew and there would be dire consequences.

"Oh," she breathed. She didn't seem surprised. It was like she already knew, in a way. "... how? I don't-" She asked, hesitation in her voice, like maybe she didn't really want to know how.

Zayn just looked at her, a million emotions he hoped to convey in his eyes. Sometimes words just don't do it justice. Words are just words.  
She would never understand.

"Any way one person can be hurt by another. That's how," Zayn answered, self-consciously. He wondered if he would always feel ashamed of himself.

"Like, physically? Well, obviously...  sorry. I mean, it's really like, hard to imagine him doing...that," Doniya sighed, resting her forehead against her palm. Zayn glanced down at the floor.

"When did he start doing this?" She asked, a hint of anger in her tone. Zayn didn't want her to be angry.

"Wait, it's not like that. He wasn't like this before..."

"Before what?" She asked, weakly. As if there was any reason at all Zayn should be making excuses for Liam.

Zayn felt chills trickle down his spine at the sound of her voice. She was trying her best to understand, but she didn't get it. She probably thought he was crazy to even defend such a monster.

"He has a mental illness. It's intense sometimes. But he used to be different. Before he was diagnosed," he justified for his spouse. He didn't want her thinking Liam was a bad person simply because he had some issues. He was still the same Liam Zayn fell in love with all those years ago. He still had an inkling of hope his Liam would someday return to him.

"Zayn, please. Don't-" she said sadly.

"I know. I'm not saying he didn't... I'm just... I don't want you to just think of him as an abusive prick. I love him." Zayn said, his gaze dropping.

He couldn't look her in the eyes. It hurt too much. Zayn felt so stupid saying something like that despite recent events. Doniya just stared at him, confusion in her eyes. She thought he was out of his mind; as though he had grown a second head.

He could feel it. Zayn could taste her judgement in the air.

"Did you know we were married?" He asked, still watching the glossy wood floor.

"No. I-I didn't," she responded, irritatedly. Zayn didn't mean to make everything so difficult. He felt personally responsible and it wasn't a good feeling at all.

"... he's my husband."

"But he-he-how could you just... I mean, I hate him, just thinking about-"

"You don't understand. I knew you wouldn't." Zayn muttered, bitterly.

"Of course I don't. Just tell me. Please, Zayn. Tell me what happened and why I shouldn't feel upset," she begged.

Zayn was so sick and tired of feeling like shit. Maybe spilling the truth wasn't such a good idea after all. He didn't feel the relief he was so sure he'd feel. Alleviation was far from his heart. He felt foolish. He felt like he was being daft. His older sister was shaking her head at him like all he truly felt in his heart was ridiculous.

He was asinine for loving the man who laid his hands on him everyday. Insipid for trusting a monster who took away his innocence. He was naive for thinking there was any hope of Liam coming back. He was being silly and childish. Doniya looked at him like he was broken and weak and too fickle to think properly. Zayn hated feeling that way more than anything.

"He raped me, yeah? That night. Like, I didn't do shit and he came home and he was so upset like he always gets and there wasn't anything I could have done. He fucked me up like, real bad and so I ran. I called mum and she came and got me. I was in the hospital for two weeks. I'm out now. I'm here. That's what happened," he spat hotly, his tone more firm than he allowed it to be the past two years.

"I'm sorry," she said, genuinely after a moment. It was a lot to register.

"Don't be." Zayn quickly retorted. He didn't even recall the tears that began rushing from his eyes and down his cheeks. He thought about that night more than he'd liked to admit. It haunted him every day. He was positive if he had just done something different - anything that night, maybe Liam wouldn't have been so angry and wouldn't have done those awful things and said those terrible words.

He angrily wiped his face, "Fuck," he grumbled. 

"I just feel... I don't know. I wish I had known. I wish I could have helped... I just-"

"'S not your fault." He said, slowly, rubbing his eyes.

"Not yours either. You know that, right?" Zayn closed his eyes, the words tugging at his heart.

"Yeah,"

"Come here," she breathed, her own eyes wet. Zayn could hear the regret, feel the tension in the room. It wasn't anybody's fault, it just was. There was no reason and no explanation. Zayn had nothing more to say.

He stood, sat down on the bed and let her put her arms around him. He let himself cry, and that was new. She sniffled and held him tightly, reluctant to let him go.

"If I had known... Zayn," she whispered against his shoulder, hand smoothing down his tense back.

"... Nobody hurts my little brother," she sighed, tremulously.

And Zayn thought it was nice of her to try and assure him of that.

But Zayn had already been hurt. Torn, far beyond repair, he feared.

**< < < <**

Zayn thought talking about it hadn't helped at all.

He appreciated Doniya's willingness to listen and her unconditional support, but he didn't feel any better about himself. Or what had happened.

He felt empty inside. There was a hollowness within his heart. He felt lonely, and sad. Distraught. Even surrounded by all the reminders of his childhood memories and his loving family.

All the signs of comfort were there, in the home. The throw pillows and the picture frames and the home cooked meals. The sunlight was soft, gentle against his skin. It wasn't too hot and the home wasn't too cold. Even walking barefoot along the hard wood hallway, he felt content. The 'welcome' mat was soft under the soles of his feet.

He pressed his forehead to the door, his eye peering through the peephole to see the outside world.

There was nobody there.

Zayn laid on the living room couch, curled his legs up closer to his body.

He missed Liam.

It had started slowly.

Liam had taken away his mobile phone, told Zayn he didn't need to contact anyone as long as he was under Liam's roof - under Liam's protection.

Liam had taken the set of house keys he once bestowed upon Zayn, told him he didn't need to leave their home or even go outside, ever. It was dangerous outside. Liam was only looking out for his partner; wanted to keep Zayn safe from harm.

Liam had done away with a lot of things. He'd packed notebooks, pens, paper and all the card stock in the house into boxes, kept them locked up in his office during the day while he was at work.

He'd confiscated Zayn's laptop, his books and iPod, told Zayn he didn't need those things to idly waste time durning the days when he should've be cooking or cleaning, should have had dinner on the table every evening when Liam returned home.

He'd slowly started restricting Zayn's basic rights - neglecting his basic needs - taking away his ability to speak.

With his good arm Zayn squeezed the pillow closer to his chest, pushed his chin into the soft material around that made up the edging.

Liam used to hold him.

Back when he was sweet, and gentle. 

Liam used to kiss over the short dark hairs at the back of his neck, those strong arms encircling his waist from behind.

Liam used to murmur little 'I love you's into his tickled skin.

Zayn used to laugh so hard his eyes watered and his cheeks felt sore.

Liam used to giggle in the back of his throat, bite that plump lower lip to stifle the hilarity.

Zayn was in love.

Still. 

In love with a memory.

**< < < <**

"You sure, baby?" His mother asked, threading her fingers through his long dark hair.

Zayn nodded, relaxed his muscles into the chair at the kitchen table.

She sighed, feeling over his scalp, thumbing at his temples,  savoring the silkiness of his locks.

"It must have taken some time to grow out this long," she hummed to herself, adjusting the collar of his plain white t-shirt.

Zayn was glad to be home. He was glad to be there with his mother. Was glad that she still loved him.

"Yeah," Zayn agreed. He didn't want to tell her Liam's crude words; the vulgarity of how he kept his hair long so he could pull on it during sex, practically drag Zayn down the hall or yank it when he said or did the wrong things. Like a master tugging the leash of his bad dog.

Zayn wanted that part gone. That memory wasn't something he wanted to keep around. If he wanted to perfect his ideal image of Liam, he had to eliminate all the bad from his mind. He had to cut off every reminder of his monstrosity - replace it with only good, or less painful memories.

And identity. Identity was something Zayn had lost a long time ago. He hadn't a name for himself other than the cruel ones Liam slurred at him from day to day. Zayn hadn't known who he was or what his purpose was. He had to create a new Zayn. A free  Zayn. A version of himself that had had the ability to decide his own purpose. Without being coerced into anything he wasn't comfortable with or sure about.

Zayn had to become a new person. 

And that started here.

Zayn didn't want to see Liam, and be reminded of his wrath each time he glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't want Liam to be on his body I'm any way. He wanted to be Zayn. That was it. Not Liam's personal slave. Not Liam's dog, or servant or housemaid, he was Zayn. He was his own person. That was all he wanted to be.

"If you insist," the mother exhaled, as she plugged in the hair clippers.

Zayn let her tilt his head back as she started, the low buzz of the device filling the silence of the kitchen.

He closed his eyes as the dark locks fell from his head, drifting weightlessly to the floor around the chair.

Some bits fell on his shoulders and he picked up a piece with his hand, felt the thin damp strands between his thumb and forefinger.

He let it go eventually, watched it drop to the floor amongst all the others.

Once his mum finished she ran her soft hand over his head, felt the stubbly surface with a fond smile on her lips.

She handed Zayn the mirror and he took it with a gracious 'thank you'.

He stared at the reflection a long while after that. He wasn't used to the look yet, but he hoped he would be soon. It felt good, at least. A little breezy, but good nonetheless. New. Fresh.

He was Zayn. Just Zayn. 

**< < < <**

_"Come on, baby - just... please?" Liam's voice begged, warm hand smoothing down the plane of his back._

_Zayn shook his head, his grip on the comforter tightening. He didn't feel comfortable with the current situation. He didn't like what was happening one bit and was considering getting up to go sleep on the couch if Liam didn't leave him be. He hadn't been feeling well all afternoon - pestered with a raging migraine that made him feel like his skull was splitting open at both ends. Zayn had taken some pain relievers, ate dinner and drank plenty of water before bed. His headache just wasn't going away._

_"I don't feel well, Liam," he said, pressing his face further into the pillow._

_"But ... Zayn, baby, I don't... I don't understand," he started, a heavy sigh leaving him._

_Zayn watched the time change on the digital clock on the nightstand beside their bed, took a steady inhale._

_"... I mean, I come home from working all day to take care of you. To take care of us. I'm thinking about you and missing you all day, but when I come home... you won't even let me touch you," Liam said, sounding slightly stressed now. He was always getting himself worked up into a fit, tugging on his hair and rubbing the back of his neck until the skin was red and irritated._

_Zayn felt heat rise in his chest, something thick, and weighted pressing against his ribs from the inside._

_Uneasiness settled into the pit of his stomach, twisting in his gut._

_"Am I not... not pleasing you anymore? Huh? Is that what it is?" Liam choked out. It was more like blabbering nonsense, but Zayn would never say that to him. He would never voice his frustrations about it._

_He blinked, water filling his eyes. Because Zayn wasn't used to this yet - the way Liam got when he was feeling this type of stressed. This new mood he put himself in when his thoughts ran wild whirred through his head. How Liam was positive that everything and everyone under the moon was plotting against him; praying on his failures and wishing him bad luck. Everyone was out to get Liam._

_"Am I not good enough for you, Zayn?" Liam asked, vulnerability in his voice._

_And Zayn didn't like the way he sounded when he was hurting. He hated to hear the crack in his deep voice when he was close to breaking; close to falling apart. Zayn loved Liam and always wanted him to be happy._

_Zayn turned over onto his back, saw the darkness of Liam's pupils, the way his fingers clenched in the duvet and his breaths came out heavy._

_"Is that it?" Liam asked sternly, shooting Zayn a strong glance._

_"No, no," Zayn hastily assured the man, taking Liam's hand. He sat up slightly, their thick pillows supporting his lower back as he tried to comfort Liam._

_Zayn cupped his hand against Liam's cheek, looked into those deep dark browns in search of some light._

_"Babe, no... you know that's not true," Zayn whispered. They were the only two in the home but Zayn somehow felt inclined to whisper, not to disturb the peace - the order of the house._

_Liam just stared back, body visibly less tense as Zayn had moved closer to him, reached out and touched him._

_"You're gonna leave me one day, Zayn. Leave me for someone else-"_

_"Never. Never gonna leave you," Zayn cut in, thumb stroking the soft fuzz of Liam's beard. The younger swallowed, his throat moving as he took in the words of his boyfriend._

_Because it was true. Liam's disorder wasn't any of a reason for Zayn not to love him. Zayn wanted to spend the rest of his life with Liam, and there was no way he would reconsider that simply because of his mental illness. Zayn would never walk out on Liam and he wasn't sure what he had to do to show him that._

_Liam's eyes glistened in the night, the moonlight from the window slipping in past the curtains._

_He leaned down slowly, pressed his lips against Zayn's as gently as possible._

_Zayn exhaled, using his hand to guide the kiss._

_He kept his eyes closed as his boyfriend leaned in closer, before pulling away only slightly._

_"Love you so much," Liam breathed out against his lips, the fresh mint of his breath familiar and inviting to Zayn._

_Liam's hand slipped down to hold Zayn's side, slid up and over Zayn's bare chest and down his abdomen._

_"Don't know what I'd do without you," Liam's voice trembled with each word he spoke. Zayn felt guilty, like he had made Liam feel self conscious about himself and had picked out his insecurities to use them against him, when really, he disorder had done that._

_"Let me show you that I love you... please baby," Liam murmured, his lips moving to leave kisses down Zayn's neck now._

_Zayn frowned when he felt what was happening, the clear memory of him telling Liam a concise 'no' seeming farther and farther away as Liam kissed him._

_"Um, I -" Zayn began, thinking better of it when Liam smoothed his palm down his chest, roaming lips sending shivers down his spine._

_Liam kissed him again, his tongue gently stroking into Zayn's mouth. He felt a soft moan leave him as Liam's pink lips connected with his._

_Kissing Liam was one of Zayn's favorite things to do and he just couldn't help himself._

_Liam's right hand moved to caress his jaw, curled index finger tilting his chin up to join their lips once more._

_The sound of their separation filled the quiet bedroom. Zayn gave Liam a small smile, looking up into his eyes._

_Liam's eyes scrolled over his face, seemingly taking in every detail, processing each feature._

_Liam smiled in return before leaning back in, kissing Zayn again, softly, so that he could feel their lips slotting together._

_His bottom lip tingled once Liam let it go. Zayn blinked up at the younger man, ran his hand down Liam's bicep._

_"I love you too. So much," Zayn replied, his voice unsteady. He cleared his throat, took a breath._

_He had to support Liam. He had to be strong for Liam no matter what._

_Then Liam was kissing him again, harder that time. He licked deep into Zayn's mouth, pushed his fingers through Zayn's thick hair._

_"... Li," Zayn barely said, his voice being drowned out by Liam's lips again. Their wet tongues slid together, Zayn doing his best to kiss back as Liam's hand slowly soothed down his body._

_Liam's hand was hovering Zayn's soft cock, hidden through the slit in his batman boxer briefs._

_Zayn's brow furrowed as Liam cupped a hand over him, gave him a soft squeeze through the fabric._

_Liam parted from Zayn's lips, kissing the corner of his mouth before dipping down lower, kissing Zayn's jawline, mouthing at his collarbones, sucking a bruise into the juncture of his neck and shoulder._

_Zayn just wasn't in the mood at all. His head was pulsating with every beat of his now fast paced heart. His breath grew quicker, more frantic as Liam rubbed at his cock._

_Zayn clenched his eyes shut as he was coaxed to hardness, knew in his heart it wasn't really up for debate._

_"Zayn... I wanna... " Liam murmured between kisses, sounding out of breath with the headiness of desire, like fire, coursed through his veins._

_"Wanna make love to you," he begged, lips working in anxious desperation._

_Zayn felt smothered as Liam crawled closer to him, his heavy weight crushing down on his thin body. His lips drowned out all other distraction; took away the possible ways of escape._

_Zayn had never felt this way before, but he didn't like it at all._

_"Liam I don't... Liam-" Zayn tried, his heart rate picking up speed as the bigger man tenderly pushed his thin body back down against the bed._

_"Shh." Liam kissed him quiet, thumb playing at the elastic of Zayn's pants. He slipped his hand down under the material, took a hold of Zayn's semi-erect cock and began stroking it, slowly trying to bring him up further; to turn him on._

_"Wanna-wanna fuck you, baby. It's been so long... want to be inside you," Liam said sweetly, nosing at Zayn's temple._

_Zayn sighed as he felt his body reacting to the stimulation. He closed his wet eyes and tried to get into it. If they were going to have sex Zayn might as well at least enjoy it. It was Liam. And Liam loved him. Liam would never do anything to hurt him and so he closed his eyes. Zayn willed the panic to dissipate from his mind, decided he would please his boyfriend for a night._

_It was normal in a relationship to make compromises, give leeway and understanding where it was needed. Zayn was very patient with Liam, took his time to explain things to the younger man, cook for him during the week, wake him up with a morning blowjob every now and then. Zayn was willing to go the extra mile to please Liam, to prove to him that his love was real. It was normal for them to not always agree or feel the same way about things._   
  
_It was perfectly normal, to be persuaded by his partner. It was normal to give exchanges sometimes. It was normal to give up the last slice of cake for Liam, if he wanted it._

_"Okay," Zayn breathed, relaxing back into the sheets as Liam began to grind down, his hips creating friction against his groin._

_Liam groaned, sucked a new love bite onto Zayn's throat, claiming him - a temporary reminder of their passion, and love for one another._

_And Zayn was so lucky to have Liam. He'd never thought a love like theirs could even exist._

_And Liam made love to Zayn that night, Zayn's front pressed against the mattress as Liam held his hips steady from behind._

_Liam kissed his neck, draped his torso over Zayn's back and thrusted in slow and deep; just the way Zayn liked._

_He didn't hurt Zayn. He hadn't caused him any physical pain other than the dull ache in his behind and the sting of the hickeys he'd left on his neck and shoulders. But those were beautiful reminders._

_So Zayn had nothing to complain about. Liam loved him. And he had proved it - shown Zayn just how much he meant every word._

_There wasn't any reason for tears or pain. Nothing was the matter at all._

_And so Zayn was so confused as to why the moment Liam rolled away from him onto his own side of their bed - curling up under the duvet to keep his naked skin safe from the chills of the night - that tears started to spill down his face._

_Zayn already had a massive headache and it was worse now. That whole thing just made him so confused. He wanted to get some sleep but now the thoughts were swarming him._

_He didn't know why Liam didn't want to take 'no' for a valid answer. Zayn didn't know why Liam had touched his body like that, having known Zayn wasn't feeling well. He didn't get it._

_Zayn cried silently in bed for the first time that night, and wondered if that was really normal after all._

**< < < <**


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